


no exit

by orphan_account



Series: game on [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (talk about their feelings and slowly get pissed at each other that's what they'll do), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - White House, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, oh no! a bunch of people locked into small rooms in small groups! what'll they do?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 08:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6846736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: The White House crashes after the Correspondent's Dinner. John, Eliza, and Burr are about ready to leave, though, so this whole thing needs to blow over quick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no exit

**Author's Note:**

> zoinks i am tired.
> 
> anyways! another tww episode (y'know. the one with the same title and premise,) made me do this. thanks. enjoy.
> 
> you don't have to read the rest of the oneshots but this takes place during washington's second term, wherein alexander is treasury secretary (with his assistant eliza,) john is communications director, burr is deputy chief of staff, angelica is press secretary, and mulligan is the executive secretary. enjoy.

“Why’d you cut the Lee joke?” says Alexander, barreling almost headfirst into his old office— John cleared it out, it’s good space. 

“You don’t write for the president anymore, _Mr. Secretary,_ ” says John, over-enunciating the title, “Your joke was just a suggestion, and I didn’t think it worked, so. Cut. On the chopping block.”  
“It was _funny—“  
_ “I don’t disagree, Alex, but we can’t have one cabinet member’s personal bias against _one_ senator—“  
“It’s also one speechwriter’s personal bias,” says Alex, rolling his eyes.  
“The president cut it, Alex. He was afraid of the—“

Alex punches the desk in the corner.

“You good?”  
“Knuckles hurt.”  
“Baby. Why’d you come back?”  
“Wanted to ask you about the joke.”  
“Is that all?”  
“I like what you’ve done with the place. It’s really roomy.”  
“Your absence left a,” he pauses for dramatic affect, he gazes at the ceiling, “Gaping hole in the department’s heart.”  
“I didn’t know I meant that much to you.”  
“No, we just miss Eliza.”  
“She deserved the promotion.”  
“Yes, but also, she’s the best damn assistant in the world.”  
“Therefore, promoted.”  
“She with you tonight?”  
“She’s in her sister’s office, they’re going on some bonding camping trip with Peggy.”  
“Peggy’s the— the short one, right?”

Alex snorts, “Same height as Eliza, but yeah. Wears a lot of yellow. She interned for your dad when she was in high school, hasn’t Eliza told you?”  
“No. She’s related to the Schuylers and she worked for my dad?”  
“She applied on a dare. Look, John,” Alexander’s about to say something serious, which John cannot do right now, okay, he’s going out tonight and he needs to get in the mindset for it, “I know we don’t work together anymore, and I know that’s sort of…”  
“Blockaded?”  
“Blockaded our friendship, yeah, that works, I guess, but—“  
“We don’t talk as much because I— We’re both busy people, Alex, things don’t stay this way forever. I should— I have notes, on, uh, your speech— unprecedented move, by the way, you talking instead of Adams.”  
“Fuck Adams. He would’ve just talked shit about me. And he hates the press, so he doesn’t like going anyways. I volunteered, he tried to have Jefferson go, but Jefferson— Jefferson said he wanted to see me embarrass myself. So.”  
“His Chief of Staff is two steps away from murdering me,” John sighs, and then, “Your speech was, it was dismal, Alex, who wrote it?”  
He lowers his eyebrows, “I did.”  
“You’re kidding. What the hell was that?”

Both of their phones buzz as Alex prepares to retaliate, and a secret service agent— one John has never seen, maybe she’s one of Alex’s— ducks her head in and says, “Mr. Laurens, Mr. Secretary, we’re crashing, gonna need you two to stay in here until we clear things up.”  
Alexander, suddenly distracted, looks up, “Is the president safe?”  
“He’s in a secure location with Mr. Mulligan.”  
“Can I be moved? John is insulting my _honor._ ”  
“We can’t move anyone, Mr. Secretary.”

Alexander lets himself fall to the floor— it’s rather extravagant and exaggerated, John laughs at him a little.

“My speech was important,” he says, “It conveyed the state of the nation, these are— we have to be realistic.”  
“It’s a comedy dinner— you’re the one who came in here talking about a cut joke, Alex. And we don’t need twenty minutes of pessimism.”  
“Yeah, and my humor is pessimistic, because the future of this nation is as well.”  
“Look,” says John, “Let’s just get through this crash.”  
“I’m gonna keep talking.”  
“Have fun with that, man, I got responses.”

 

—

Peggy still hasn’t arrived when Eliza gets locked in Angelica’s office, Maria Lewis, hair still in an up-do, going off about some details that she needs for a story, Angelica holding her head in her hands. They’re all wearing gowns, and Eliza really, desperately needs to change, but her clothes are stuck in the trunk of Peggy’s car. She hates this dress, (itchy and way too bright a shade of teal to be reasonable for her), more than anything, except maybe the volume at which Angelica and Maria are debating. 

“Maria,” says Angelica, “I’m not giving you an exclusive on this, I don’t show favoritism.”  
“You say that to all the girls?” Maria drawls, and Eliza almost bangs her head against the wall leaning back.  
“Does anyone wants a water bottle?” Eliza asks instead of further injuring herself, “I stole Aaron’s water bottles and brought them here.” 

She gets no response, so she digs through her purse to find one of the granola bars she stuffed in it earlier. She only has the s’mores kind left, but desperate times, she supposes, call for desperate measures, even going so far as to eat the absolute worst kind of granola bar. Maria is still rambling on about how her editor is pressing her like crazy for this story, Angie, God, if I don’t get this, I’ll be fired, and then what excuse would we have, Angie?

Eliza wants to be asleep in Peggy’s car right now, not suffering through whatever this is. She can’t find her earbuds in her purse, and Angelica’s desk, however meticulously organized, doesn’t really lead itself to finding things if you’re unfamiliar with the system. 

“Don’t you have a free bar to be at? Burr and Hercules finished off the champagne I hide in that drawer, you should’ve stayed at the dinner,” says Angelica.  
“I don’t drink, Angelica, you know that.”  
“Not even water?” blurts Eliza, “Because I have that and I’d rather you two be staying hydrated than reenacting some soap opera. I’m gonna text Peggy.”  
“She knows,” says Angelica, “I told her.”  
“You weren’t even paying attention?”  
“I don’t want my damn sister climbing the gate and making this crash eight hours longer, it was for our own health,” Angelica rolls her eyes, Eliza hates when she does this, she loves Angelica but she’s so condescending, sometimes. And Peggy’s more reasonable than that, probably. Probably. She’s a little unpredictable, sure, but not to the level of “hop the White House fence like some dumbass frat boy,” she fears consequence too much. Eliza doesn’t want Maria Lewis getting the wrong impression of Peggy.  
“Why’re we even crashed?”  
“Air’s cut off, so, airborne contaminant? Again, water bottles. You won’t overheat with ‘em.”  
“Good conclusion, E,” says Angelica.  
“I know.”  
“Where’s that recycling initiative y’all were all about during your first term?”

No one answers.

She yawns, and opens another granola bar. She might grow to like s’mores flavored granola bars, if she’s stuck with them forever, which she may as well be, with how damn long it feels like this crash has been. Her phone says it’s been twenty minutes, her head says it’s been three hours. And if it’s airborne, it’ll probably take at least another hour in real time. So, doing the math, that’s nine more hours, head time. Wonderful.

“You got more?” asks Maria, cracking her wrists. Eliza should ask about her nail polish, it’s a really nice shade.  
“ _You_ ate at the dinner.”  
“Didn’t you?” Maria pulls out her phone at this point, starts playing some trivia game.  
“I was busy, okay, a little bit distracted.”  
“Fair. What’s Superman’s alter ego’s name?”

 

—

 

Aaron didn’t necessarily want to be trapped in a bunker with the President and Hercules Mulligan tonight— he promised Theo he’s be home an hour ago. He promised her they’d watch the finale of that weird show she’s really into together. 

But he’s here anyways. And maybe bunker isn’t the best word for it, considering it’s just a highly sterilized room, but it freaks him out. And Mulligan is also a little freaked out by it, clearly, because he’s latched onto Aaron in a way that people who work here usually do to anyone _but_ Aaron. The president is off getting his blood tested by a doctor, and Mulligan is bouncing his leg. 

“How’ve you been, lately?” Aaron asks, for politeness’ sake.  
“Eh,” says Mulligan, “Don’t have time to do anything.”  
“So no more amateur fashion design?”  
“The fuck told you about that?”  
“Angelica.”

“I still do that, I just also have to organize every single goddamn thing that asshole does. And then, that includes herding y’all like stray cats.”  
“There’s Jenga on that shelf.”  
“Fuck, for real? I haven’t played that since I was seven, _shit_.”  
“My sister would always play it with me when she was bored. I’m probably better at this game than any other living human, she was bored, uh, a lot.”  
“Wanna test that?”

Aaron sets up the game, cautiously as he can. He has to be precise, he angles it so he can win. He knows this— and then Theo starts nagging in his head.

“I told my daughter I’d be home by now. You think she’s asleep?”  
“How old is she now?”  
“Twelve.”  
“I’d call in and check. Your… partner there?”  
“Single. Her mother died a little bit before the first campaign.”  
“Oh, shit, I didn’t know that, I’m so sorry—“  
“No, it, uh, it was years ago.”

He’s over it now, mostly. He pulls out the first block. Mulligan follows suit, squinting to get a closer look. The tower wobbles a little bit, but survives. He pumps his fist when he’s done, smiles wide. He’s got a smile that’s almost contagious, if Aaron was less tired, he’d return it in kind.

“How’s… Liz?”  
“Liz Sanders, you mean?” says Mulligan, and Aaron nods, “She’s good, yeah, we’re, uh— I’m thinkin’ about proposing, not sure how to do it, though.”  
“Hm,” Aaron says, “Congratulations.”  
“Yeah.”  
  
There’s quiet, then. Aaron doesn’t talk nearly enough to Mulligan, they only know basic little facts about each other.

He calls Theo. She understands, she always understands. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve her in his life.

“Stay safe,” she says, and he says he will, and then, “Josh K. called the president anti-white today. Almost lost my shit. How the hell’s someone who believes in—”  
“Don’t swear.”  
“I didn’t do anything. I said _almost_ , dad.”  
“Josh K.’s the one with the dad who runs the nonprofit, right?”  
“No, that’s his mom. His dad’s a lawyer.”  
“K standing for King?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Don’t be rude to him.”  
“Okay,” she says, like she’s tired, “Love you.”  
“Love you too. Get some rest, God knows how long I’ll be here.”

The doctor pulls Aaron in as he hangs up, says, “Mr. Burr,” and Burr groans. Aaron hates his yearly check-ups, and self medicates through an alarming amount of ibuprofen to avoid visiting a doctor’s office ever. He only ever goes for Theo, and he still gets queasy in the offices half the time. He closes his eyes, counts to ten over and over again.

“The test results’ll be in soon,” says the doctor, and he leaves throughtiny door Aaron hadn’t noticed.

 

—

 

“I’d kick Lee’s ass,” says John, almost asleep on the floor. Alexander’s across from him, fidgeting with a blue ballpoint pen.  
“Raise a goddamn glass to that,” he says, but doesn’t look up.  
“When I was a kid, I’d always get in fights at school. I had about twenty black eyes in one year.”  
“In Geneva or wherever?”  
“Yep,” he pops the P, rubs his knuckles like he’s till expecting callouses, but he knows that they’re not there, knows he’s out of practice. Matty suggested he take up a sport, maybe he’ll do kickboxing or something, “University too. Dad hated it, which sorta further encouraged it.”  
“I punched the bursar at Princeton when I was going for a scholarship there.”  
“No.”  
“Yeah.”

“How did I not know this— how does Burr not mention this.”  
“Yeah, that’s actually, uh, how Burr and I met, I punched his friend the bursar and it all took off from there.”

John feels his eyes weighted down, like he’s Atlas and they’re the sky. He could sleep on this dirty linoleum, he thinks, it’s cool and smooth.

“Caffeine pill?” Alex offers, pulling a tiny piles out of his pocket.  
“Fuck yes. I’m sorry I was shitty about your speech.”  
“I’m sorry I ruined the night.”  
“You didn’t,” says John, “You saved it. People need to hear what you said. You said it well.”

Alex just hands him the pill.

He pops it in his mouth, chokes it down, blows some hair out of his face. He should get it cut, he thinks. He probably won’t, but he should, it needs a trim. The internet calls his hair ridiculous and unprofessional, he might as well keep pissing everyone off. He used to live for that sort of thing. He doesn’t anymore, but the idea of people hating him gives him thrills, an adrenaline rush that keeps him going for days.  
  
“You remember when we met?”  
“We were living off caffeine pills then,” says Alex, but he doesn’t continue, he breaks the pen in his hands.

“Nah, not, uh, that.”

Dead silence.

“We can’t anymore,” says Alexander, “For your sake, not just mine.”  
“I know. We decided that a long time ago.”  
“Yeah, but we didn’t really listen to ourselves, then, J.”  
“You didn’t listen to yourself about that for anyone,” he says, he’s not bitter. He understands.  
“I still don’t,” he laughs, and then says, “Eliza and I have a complicated relationship.”  
“I know. I’m happy for you two. She’ll be good for you.”  
“We haven’t made anything official.”  
“Clearly.”

They sit like that for a while, not really saying anything. Between them, in the past, it was always actions first, then words, so unlike the way they were with others. This reminds him of then, it brings back that warm feeling in his gut.

There’s a man in a hazmat, barricading the doors to the bullpen. John pulls Alex down to the ground again, this time next to him, feet away, when he hops up to investigate.

“It’s probably some new protocol.”  
“Or, we’re dying.”  
“Always possible, probably unlikely.”  
“But we could be.”  
“Don’t spiral, Alex, back to reality. Look at me.”

He does. 

“I just,” says John, back to the point he’s wanted to make all year, “I miss you.”  
“Yeah,” says Alex, “Yeah, me too, John.”

Their hands touch, and John doesn’t move his. Alex, hands dry and covered in ink, doesn’t either but he drums on the ground, for a while. The sounds on the ground calm John down a little, and they stay like that.

His phone buzzes.

“Fifteen minutes,” says Burr, “w/ potus. All a false alarm”  
“why are they quarantining us?”  
“They’ll fix it in a few”

And so they do. 

“You wanna go?” asks Alexander, smirking. John hates it, but he can’t say no.  
“Why the hell not?”  
  
(His plans would be cancelled anyway).

 

—

 

Maria Lewis, high heels grasped in right hand, follows Eliza and Angelica out of the office when they’re cleared to go, one half of a granola bar in her left hand. It’s her favorite flavor, she says, which is something Eliza adds to her long list of _What The Hell Is Up With Maria Lewis_. She even stalks them to the gate, where Peggy is patiently waiting on her feet, glaring a little at them— “I parked three blocks away, holy shit,” she says, glasses dirty, blouse wrinkled. She says, quietly, “Hi, Maria,” and Maria says hi back, because she’s polite, probably. Eliza doesn’t know how they would know each other, but it’s nice to know Peggy is a little connected to she and Angelica’s DC life, if only through reporters. Alex passes by, waves at all of them— he’s arm in arm with John Laurens.  
  
She stops thinking about him, about Alexander and his weekend plans, whatever they may be. She is taking the weekend off. She doesn’t need to worry about her boss’ exploits, she does not need to think about Alexander Fucking Hamilton’s life. This weekend is for her, for Angelica, for Peggy, who she has not seen in three entire months. This is going to be wonderful, and nothing bad will happen, and she needs to get out of this awful ballgown as soon as she can, or she might die on the spot. 

Maria kisses Angelica’s cheek, staining it bright, bright red like she’s paint and Angelica is her canvas, and she runs off towards the nearest metro station. Eliza had thought they were just a one-date thing a couple of years back, Angelica’s never mentioned the two of them being a couple— although, in fairness, romantic issues weren’t exactly something Eliza told Angelica about anymore either. That was definitely a problem that needed fixing— Eliza doesn’t know who else she might go to about this, but she still never went to her. She didn’t go to anyone. 

They need this weekend to reconnect, to relax. They’ve both been way too busy, too self-involved with their jobs and their personal lives, clearly. Peggy is a godsend for suggesting this sort of thing. Peggy was always the good one, out of them— not the one who would save the world, but the one who would make sure it functioned afterwards. 

She changes in the car, a hoodie from her high school and oversized gray sweatpants. She lounges in the backseat, drapes blankets over herself. Angelica keeps her dress, long and silk and peach colored, on, sits up straight in the passenger’s seat, keeps up conversation.

“Makes me feel powerful,” she says, and she laughs a little at herself, flips her hair off of her shoulder.  
“You already are, Ang,” says Peggy, deadpan, eyes on the road. The radio’s quietly playing the music they grew up on, the car reeks of fast food and Peggy’s cat. It feels like home, to Eliza, reminds her of how things were when they were teenagers. She smiles about it.

Eliza gets more sleep in that car than she has in a year. She deserves it, she decides. She deserves all the sleep in the world, this weekend, at least. She doesn’t have to write anything, orwork on anything, she’s allowed to live freely.

She needed this more than anything.

 

—

 

Aaron is not exactly sure how Hercules Mulligan convinced him to let him crash on the couch, but Aaron knows for a fact that Hercules Mulligan is, a) on his couch, b) asleep like he’s dead, and c) not going to leave until morning. Which is fine, in all reality, but also, Aaron would really prefer to have known maybe three or four days in advance. 

Theodosia still watches her show from atop the couch, perched like she’s a bird or something. Aaron doesn’t understand the plot at all, something about fantasy worlds and time travel and maybe, maybe forbidden romance, but that might be the other one, and considers joining Hercules in his endeavor to get a good night’s sleep for once. He admires it greatly.

But he doesn’t sleep, not immediately. He doesn’t sleep much at all lately, he’s too tense, too worried by the job. He grabs himself some chips and watches Theo watch her show. Buzzfeed keeps posting about how “totally savage” the President was at the WHCD, and he really wishes that he didn’t get notifications about that sort of thing. He’s not sure how to turn them off, though, so he supposes he’ll keep them. 

He falls asleep on his chair five minutes after the episode ends, forgets to set his alarm.

He’s waken up to an alarm that isn’t his, a much louder sound than he’s used to, coming from across the room, and a very groggy Hercules Mulligan. He’s stretching, seemingly unaware of the fact that he is in someone else’s house and wearing a tuxedo.

Aaron gets himself ready, wakes Theo up for her soccer practice, and drags Mulligan out the door.

“I’m briefing today, I gotta get there ASAP.”  
“Where’s Angelica,” Mulligan says, rather than asks.  
“Sister bonding trip of the year.”  
“Treasury’s out of its secretary, then.”  
“True, but Hamilton’ll never admit it.”

Mulligan laughs.

"Can you believe that shit last night was a test?"  
"Eh. It's not out of character."

They arrive two minutes late. Aaron tries not to panic.

“What do I need to know?” he asks when he gets inside, and he begins his day. It's normal. Everything is fine.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr @oceanicairline or twitter @farmerefuted for more Garbage i'm sorry for this fic y'all


End file.
